


Misunderstanding

by Creej



Category: White Collar
Genre: Casefic (sorta), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creej/pseuds/Creej
Summary: Peter makes a move, Neal's surprised.





	Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, on this one I know the title sucks. Always had a problem with them. If anyone can come up with a better one, let me know.

Neal stood looking at his apartment door as it shut behind his partner, Peter's stammered apologies echoing in his ears.

Peter had come over to discuss their latest case but it had seemed he was barely in the door before Neal found himself against the wall, Peter's hands in his hair, his mouth on his...and he'd frozen.

"Shit," Neal breathed as he sank into a chair. It wasn't that he hadn't liked what Peter was doing, it was just he hadn't expected Peter to make the first move - or any move for that matter. He'd dreamed of it - and more - for months, years even but had no idea how to tell Peter.

He knew why Peter had reacted as he had - he'd frozen in surprise but Peter had read it as distaste. He also knew how Peter would act at work - he'd keep his distance, no more casual touches, no more hand on his shoulder or at the small of his back. He'd never minded how handsy Peter was with him - it made him feel special in a way only Peter could. If he was jittery, stressed or just upset, Peter's hand on his shoulder was enough to calm him. And of course, he couldn't forget that it had been Peter's arms around him on the tarmac with a conflagration at his back. He thought it was probably then that his feelings for his handler became something more than platonic.

He debated texting or calling Peter to ask him to come back but he knew his partner well enough to know it would go unanswered. No doubt Peter was mortified at what he'd done, positive that he'd crossed a line Neal hadn't wanted crossed, that he'd abused his position as Neal's handler.

Neal rubbed his face, his mind sorting through various plans to show Peter his advances were more than welcome.

 

Peter sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel, wondering what had possessed him. He'd wanted to go over their latest case with Neal but when he'd seen his partner, jacket off, tie loosened, shirt open at the throat and sleeves rolled up, he'd given in to the urge to kiss him...and he did...until Neal had frozen.

He groaned. He didn't even know if Neal was into men - evidence seemed to show he wasn't. He'd been dedicated to Kate until he lost her and since then he'd flirted with almost every woman who crossed his path, with the exception of Elizabeth. He groaned again. Elizabeth had known he was attracted to Neal almost before he realized it himself. And in yet another example that he really didn't deserve her, she'd given him permission to pursue a...deeper...partnership with Neal. He'd protested that Neal had given no indication that the feeling was mutual but Elizabeth had just given him that smile that said she knew something but he'd have to figure it out for himself.

"Well, I guess *that* question has been answered," he said to himself. Still, he couldn't help but remember how Neal's mouth had felt on his. He sighed and started the car, wondering how Neal would act at work. Would he act as if nothing had happened? Would he keep his distance? Become reserved? Laugh it off? One thing he knew for sure was Neal wouldn't hold it against him. Neal wasn't that crass. As he made his way home, he wished Elizabeth wasn't out of town - he needed to talk to her and he didn't want to do it over the phone. This talk needed to be face to face.

 

For the first time since the early days of his partnership with Peter, Neal was nervous when he was picked up the next day. He'd been up most of the night trying to think of ways he could tell Peter his advances were not unwelcome and when he did sleep, his dreams were about how good it would be if (when) they got together.

"Morning Peter," he said, sliding into the passenger seat and handing him a to-go cup of coffee. "June's best." He debated whether to bring up what had happened or even if he should as they made their way to the Federal Building. He gave a mental shrug and decided to go for it. "Listen Peter...about yesterday..."

"I hope you can forgive me for what I did," Peter said, interrupting him. "I know I made you uncomfortable. I never wanted to. Let's just put it behind us, okay? I can promise it'll never happen again."

"Peter..."

"Let's just focus on the work," Peter said. "What happened, happened and I'm sorry."

Neal gave up on trying again since Peter had used his 'the subject is closed' tone and sighed. So much for telling him he hadn't minded. That just left showing him. Unfortunately he couldn't exactly drop to his knees and swallow him whole in the middle of the office. He bit back a moan at the thought and surreptitiously pressed the heel of his hand against his cock and thought of the most unsexy things he could come up with - mortgage fraud, the van, Mozzie in boxers, a gun pointed at him, violent crime scene photos.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Neal said. "Why?"

"You looked like you just got a whiff of the bottom of the Hudson," Peter said.

"Never had the dubious pleasure," Neal said. "Was just thinking about the stacks of fraud cases we still have to wade through.

"Those can wait," Peter said. "I've got something better."

"Any hints?"

Peter glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're gonna like this," he said.

"As long as it has nothing to do with fraud, I like it," Neal said.

"Well, it *is* fraud of a sort," Peter said.

"Gotta give me more to go on, Peter," Neal said.

Peter seemed to debate with himself for a minute then said, "We got a tip about a possible forgery at the Powell."

"Ooooh, forgery. Right up my alley," Neal said then couldn't resist adding, "Allegedly."

"Allegedly? Neal, you were busted for forgery in case you forgot."

"Bonds not painting," Neal said as if that made any difference. "So, which artist?"

"Manet," Peter said. "A piece called The Railway."

"Ah yes, otherwise known as Gare Saint-Lazare. Painted in 1873. Manet's last painting using Victorine Meurent, a fellow artist," Neal said.

"So you're familiar with it."

Neal shrugged. "Not my favorite," he said. "What made them suspicious?"

"It may be nothing," Peter said. "The curator, a Ms. Claire Williams, said she noticed the painting was, in her words, off kilter."

"The painting was crooked?" Neal asked. "That's what set off alarm bells?"

"Can't hurt to check," Peter said. "Besides, it'll give you a chance to look around."

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the museum to find the curator, a tall, slender woman with light brown hair and eyes, waiting for them.

"I'm Special Agent Burke," Peter said. "And this is our expert, Neal Caffrey."

"Agent Burke, Mr. Caffrey, Claire Williams," the woman said, shaking their hands. "If you'll follow me."

She led them through the museum, down a back hallway and opened a door, revealing a brightly lit room with crates and paintings stacked against the walls. On a table was the suspect painting - Manet's The Railway. As Neal bent over the painting, he pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves.

"There's a magnifier..." Ms. Williams began.

"Unnecessary at the moment but thank you," Neal said a little distractedly. Inch by inch, he went over the painting, which showed a woman in a dark blue gown and bonnet, sitting with a book, a puppy and a fan in her lap and a young girl in a white dress with a blue sash, back turned as she looked through a wrought iron fence. Clouds of steam suggested a passing train below them.

Finally, Neal straightened. "This is very good work Ms. Williams, some of the best I've seen but it's a forgery."

"How can you tell?"

He beckoned her over and handed her the magnifier. "There, in the ruffles of the woman's sleeve," he said. "The initials M. O." He used a pen to delicately trace the letters, careful not to touch tip to canvas.

"Any idea who it is?" Peter asked.

"Only one person I know that does Manet this well," Neal said. "Marshal Owens."

"Any idea when the switch was made?" Peter asked the curator.

"Best guess, when we upgraded our security last week," Ms. Williams said. "The alarms were offline for about an hour followed by the cameras for two hours. We had extra guards but admittedly they weren't the most experienced."

"I'll need names and contact information for everyone who had access," Peter said. "Guards, museum staff, cleaning crew. Anyone who knew when security would be offline."

"All the information is in my office," Ms. Williams said as she led them back to the museum proper. "If you'll wait here..."

As they waited, they took the opportunity to look at the other exhibits, Peter keeping a discreet distance between himself and Neal, even though he itched to touch the other man.

Neal allowed him his space, knowing how embarrassed he was at what he'd done even though he had no reason to be. Sometimes Neal thought Peter was entirely too rigid in his sense of propriety. A few minutes later, the curator returned, bearing a stack of folders, which she handed to Peter. "It's all there," she said. "I do hope you can find who did this."

"We'll certainly do our best," Peter said. He handed the folders to Neal and retrieved a card from his pocket. "If you have any more information, please call."

Once back at the office, they ensconced themselves in Peter's office and dove into the files, breaking briefly to grab lunch.

"How would you have done it?" Peter asked at one point.

"Wait til the cameras were offline, watch for the guards and make the switch," Neal said.

"Why the cameras and not the alarms?"

"Alarms are easy to bypass," Neal said. "Find a good hiding place, wait til the museum closes. Remember, the guards weren't that experienced. So, wait until they were in another part of the museum so you can avoid them. Also, no cameras mean there's no video."

"Or, go in as cleaning crew," Peter said. "You have reason to be there after hours, as well as the means to get the forgery in and the authentic painting out." He drummed his pen absently on a folder. "Tell me about this Owens," he said. "What do you know?"

"Well, rumor has it he retired a few years ago to some Greek island," Neal said. "Only person I know that could do Manet this well..."

"Even better than you?" Peter asked, amused.

"Yes, Peter, even me...if I'd ever done Manet," Neal said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Anyway, he's smart enough not to glut the market, did two, maybe three jobs a year and somehow managed to get highest price for them, usually from private collectors."

"Nothing in the last few years?"

"Not that I'm aware," Neal said.

"So why hang on to a piece this long? Why wait to swap the paintings?"

"One possibility," Neal said. "He's getting rid of his inventory, getting completely out of the game."

"Liquidating his assets," Peter said. "At lest the less than legal ones. Any idea if he's in the country or does he have any associates he'd trust enough to make the swap?"

"He worked with a crew on occasion," Neal said. "But didn't have anyone he'd really trust enough for something like this."

"So he'd do it himself."

"Probably."

"Can you give us a description?"

"Wish I could," Neal said. "All I know is what I've heard. I've never actually seen him."

Peter sighed, setting down his pen and leaned back, stretching out the kinks that had settled in his neck and back, missing the look Neal gave him - one of...hunger, almost.

"I can see what I can find out," Neal said. "See if he's in the country, if he's completely getting out of the game or if he's active again." He busied himself gathering the papers spread over the desk, putting them in the appropriate files. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to find the bullpen almost empty. "What say we get out of here? It's late and I'm getting hungry. We can continue this at my place. I'll order from that Thai place you like."

Peter sighed. "Elizabeth's out of town," he said. "So I have to see to Satchmo."

"So we'll continue at your place," Neal said with a slight shrug. "If you want to, that is."

"I'll make the call," Peter said. "Get your stuff." As Neal left his office, Peter couldn't help admiring the line of his back which led down to his perfectly shaped ass and long legs and felt himself respond. He scolded himself for the reaction - Neal had shown no interest in any man much less in him. He'd just have to accept the fact that all he and Neal would ever have is what they had now - a partnership and a friendship, regardless of what Elizabeth thought she knew. He sighed and gathered the files and stowed them in his briefcase, wondering if being alone with Neal was a good idea, even if they would be working.

Neal, for his part, was wondering the same thing. He knew he tended to sit closer to the other man when they worked outside the office, often elbow to elbow as they pored over the same piece of paper or file. Plus, they wouldn't be separated by the desk so he'd have a harder time hiding his reaction to the other man's proximity.

"Ready?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded, grabbing his hat and jacket and was surprised - and a little turned on - when he felt Peter's hand at the small of his back then was disappointed when he removed it. He stifled a sigh and stepped into the elevator. So that's how it was going to be. It was as if Peter thought if he touched him at all, it would lead to pinning him against the wall and ravishing him - not that he'd mind, far from it. Well, if Peter was going to refrain from giving him even the most casual touches, Neal would just have to do the touching...and hope Peter didn't freak out.

 

"You still want Thai?" Peter asked when they got to the house.

"Sounds good," Neal said, giving Satchmo a scratch behind the ears before shedding his jacket. "I'll let Satch out while you call." Once that was done, he began unpacking the files, setting them on the dining room table, separating those for the museum staff from those for the guards and for the cleaning crew. In a separate pile were the copious notes Peter tended to generate on any case. He was busy sorting through them, along with his own notes, when Peter let Satchmo back in and joined him at the table.

"So, we've more or less agreed that it was Owens who did the switch and was most likely part of the cleaning crew..."

"Could have been one of the guards," Neal said. "But from what I know, that's not really his style. He likes to blend in during a job. Guards stand out - they're supposed to. So yeah, cleaning crew sounds right."

"And finding out when security would be upgraded?"

"Could have made himself part of the regular cleaning crew, listened to gossip," Neal said. He frowned a little, flipping through a file before he found what he was looking for. "Here, a memo to all staff, alerting them about the upgrade," he said. "Telling them to keep an eye out for anything unusual."

"And cleaning crew wouldn't be unusual," Peter said. "Gave him plenty of time to work out exactly how to make the switch and get out."

"The only real risk he took was when he made the actual switch," Neal said. "He probably had his copy on the cart and just waited until he had a big enough window."

"Not big enough though," Peter said. "Didn't have enough time to adjust the painting."

"Interrupted probably," Neal said, "A guard approaching before he expected them or another member of the cleaning crew."

They were interrupted when the food arrived and Peter went to pay the delivery person and collect the food. Neal cleared a space on the table and unpacked the bags as Peter got a beer for himself and a glass of wine for Neal.

"So, when's Elizabeth due back?" Neal asked.

"Saturday," Peter said. "Two events in San Francisco then next Tuesday she has a wedding in Connecticut."

"So you're on your own for the better part of the next two weeks," Neal commented, deliberately ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the opportunities Elizabeth's absence afforded. Elizabeth. He should really talk to her about how she'd feel about him trying to seduce her husband. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble in their marriage. But Peter had kissed him first and he was sure Elizabeth knew - Peter told her everything...unless he hadn't had the chance. Well, that didn't mean *he* couldn't talk to her, no need to mention what had already happened. He put the problem out of his mind and concentrated on the case, trying to ignore how close Peter was, close enough for Neal to feel the heat of Peter's body. Despite his best efforts, his mind wandered to how it would feel to have Peter's hands on him, his mouth exploring every inch of him.

 

Peter dropped his pen and rubbed his eyes. They'd been at it for hours and the words were starting to blur.

"Ready to pack it in?" Neal asked, stifling a yawn. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see how late it was.

Peter followed his gaze. "Yeah," he said. "Why don't you take the guestroom? I'm too tired to drive you back to June's."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's no problem," Peter said. "Besides, El would insist if she were here."

Neal stifled another yawn as he nodded and helped Peter clean up, disposing of the empty beer bottles and take out containers while Peter gathered the files. He climbed the stairs, Peter behind him after he'd let Satchmo out for the last time, locked up and turned out the lights. He tossed Neal a spare pair of sleep pants, saying "See you in the morning."

After Peter closed the guestroom door, Neal began undressing, folding his clothes neatly and tried not to think about Peter stripping down just across the hall. Giving in to the urge, he brought the sleep pants to his face and breathed deep. Was it only his imagination or did he get the faintest whiff of Peter? The thought made him half hard so he pushed it aside and finished dressing. He lay for a long while, tired but unable to sleep, thoughts of Peter parading through his mind. His hand drifted down and he lazily stroked his hardening cock. He suddenly stopped, irritated and embarrassed by what he was doing. But his hand wasn't paying attention, returning to his cock and stroking it to full hardness. He shoved the sleep pants down to his thighs, grabbed a tissue off the nightstand and stroked himself to completion, imagining it was Peter's hand on him. He bit his lip to keep Peter from hearing his moan. He quickly cleaned himself and disposed of the tissue. With one last sigh, he drifted to sleep.

Across the hall, Peter lay in bed, trying not to think of Neal wearing his clothes, how his sleep pants would hang low on his hips, giving just a hint at what lay between them. He muffled a moan at the thought of crawling down Neal's body, exploring him inch by inch, making Neal gasp and moan as he slowly sucked him off then sliding into his tight heat. Before he realized what he was doing, he took himself in hand and, with a few short strokes, he came with a grunt. As he cleaned up, he knew something was going to break and he was afraid it would be him.

 

Fortunately, the forgery case kept them both occupied, talking to contacts, chasing leads, sending out feelers. Mozzie came through with the most solid lead - although he insisted they didn't hear it from him - which took them to a rather run down apartment, recently occupied but just as obviously empty.

"Looks like we just missed him," Peter said, sifting through various art supplies. "Think he's working on another project?"

"Possibly," Neal said. "Though he usually doesn't start another one until he offloads the last one."

"And he hasn't moved the last one yet," Peter said. "At least as far as we know." He looked around, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "If you were Owens, would you keep a painting awaiting sale where you worked?"

"Depends on the circumstances," Neal said. "If this is his only base of operations then it's possible. It looks like he's living here as well as working here so..." He scanned the room much the way Peter had. "You're thinking he has it stashed here until he can move it."

"So...?"

"So where would he stash it?" Neal asked. "It would be some place not obvious but easy to get to in a hurry. Wouldn't have to be very big..."

Fortunately the place wasn't large - a one room studio - which made searching much easier. "Cupboards?" Peter suggested.

"Hmmm."

Methodically they went through the space, opening cabinets, drawers, even the refrigerator and oven as well as the few pieces of furniture. On impulse, Peter checked under the table. "Neal..." Together, they put the table on its side. There, secured to the underside was Manet's The Railway. Gingerly, Neal removed the painting and stood, holding it almost reverently.

"Not your favorite, huh?" Peter asked a bit dryly but a smile touched his mouth.

"It's still a great painting," Neal said.

"Let's go."

 

Neal set the painting carefully on the conference room table, grimacing slightly at the evidence tag affixed to the frame. In his office, Peter was on the phone with the curator of the Powell, informing her that the painting had been recovered and would be returned as soon as possible.

"So, back to mortgage fraud?' Neal asked when Peter got off the phone.

"Looks like it," Peter said. "But it can wait until tomorrow. We broke a good case."

"Drink?"

"My place?" Peter asked.

"Sure."

Once they were in the elevator, Neal was almost hyper-aware of Peter's presence. "So...I talked to Elizabeth...about what happened last week..." Peter said.

"And what did she say?" Neal asked, studiously not looking at him.

Peter sighed. "She told me to stop being an idiot. That you..." He stopped. "She said you...have...feelings for me too."

"Too?" Neal asked, his throat dry. He swallowed. "Peter...?"

"We can continue this conversation at my place," Peter said.

"Uh...yeah, that's probably a good idea," Neal said.

Surprisingly, the silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable, it was as easy as it had always been. Neal noticed that Peter was more at ease around him than he had been over the past week; the casual touches were back as was the easy banter.

"So, drinks," Peter said when they got to his house and shed their jackets and got more comfortable.

Neal crowded him against the kitchen counter, getting deep into his space, half expecting him to tense up. To his mixed surprise and relief, he didn't. "How about we skip the drinks for now?"

"Yeah, how about we skip them?" Peter echoed softly. Slowly, as if giving Neal every opportunity to back away, he brought his hand up to caress Neal's face and heard him sigh.

"God, Peter..." Neal breathed. He pulled Peter's head down and took his mouth, his tongue begging entrance, which Peter granted. He groaned, feeling himself get impossibly hard then gasped when he felt Peter's hand insinuate itself between them and cup him through his slacks.

"Okay?" Peter asked, pulling back.

"God yes," Neal said. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted this."

"Yeah," Peter said and brushed a thumb over Neal's mouth, making him shiver. "How about we move this upstairs?"

Neal stepped back, took his hand and led the way upstairs, heart thumping as he realized it was actually going to happen. He was hit with an attack of nerves when they reached the bedroom but Peter put him at ease, brushing his lips with his own. "Just think, we could have done this last week," he said with a shaky laugh.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Peter said. "I just..."

"Did what I wished I had," Neal said, reaching for Peter and beginning to unfasten his shirt. "I was just surprised and I knew what you must have thought," He looked up, meeting Peter's eyes, "No need to apologize."

"But I am sorry," Peter said, going to work on Neal's shirt. "Sorry I didn't finish what I started."

Neal's breath caught, seeing the heat in Peter's eyes and claimed his mouth in a deep kiss, almost frantically relieving his partner of the rest of his clothes as Peter returned the favor. "I want you inside me," he whispered in his ear. Almost before Neal could register it, he was naked and on his back in the middle of Peter's bed, with Peter hovering over him, kissing him gently but with a fair amount of heat. "Let me," he whispered.

"Anything."

With that, Peter began a slow, careful exploration of his partner's body and soon, he had Neal writhing under him, clutching at the sheets, his breathing ragged, his hips jerking in search of friction. "Oh, God!" The exclamation burst from Neal's lips as Peter's mouth engulfed him, holding him still with a firm grip and he found himself on the receiving end of the most intense blowjob he'd ever had. "Damn, but you have some serious skills," he managed to get out. It took only a few minutes before he was riding the edge. "Peter...Peter...I'm gonna..." He didn't get much farther before he exploded in release, his vision nearly whiting out. As he came back to himself, he felt Peter caressing him.

Peter gently caressed Neal's face, drying the suggestion of tears in his eyes - which were still blown black with arousal - before leaning down to capture his mouth in a gentle kiss, hearing Neal's sound of surprise at tasting himself on Peter's tongue.

Neal lifted a shaky hand to return the caress, trying to still the trip-hammering of his heart. "Wow," he breathed. "Who knew?"

"I take it you enjoyed," Peter said, amused but Neal heard a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

"Enjoyed is such a gross understatement," he said. "That was...wow." His hand drifted down the other man's body, stopping short at the impressive erection he found there and he swallowed a moan at the thought of it inside him. "Please...?" he whispered.

"God yes," Peter breathed and reached into the nightstand for lube and a condom. At Neal's inquiring look, he shrugged a little. "Elizabeth."

"A very perceptive woman, your wife," Neal said. "We owe her an obscenely expensive dinner when she gets back." His breath hitched, hearing the pop of the lube bottle and spread his legs, knees up to give Peter access.

Peter laid a hand on Neal's stomach, rubbing gently as he carefully breached Neal's entrance, watching for any sign of discomfort as he slowly worked him open, adding a second finger then a third at Neal's nod. "Now Peter...please." He rolled on the condom and liberally slicked himself before positioning himself between Neal's legs. He nearly stopped breathing as he slowly pushed in, allowing Neal to adjust to his presence, groaning as his heat enveloped him. For both their sakes, he stopped when he was fully inside. For long moments, the only sound was of their ragged breathing.

"Now," Neal said, wrapping his legs around Peter's waist, encouraging him to move. Peter did, starting slow then picking up speed as their orgasms built to the breaking point. Neal pulled Peter's head down, kissing him hungrily, panting into his mouth as his climax built. He broke the kiss, squeezing his eyes shut, his fingers digging into Peter's shoulders. "Oh God. Peter...now...please." His back arched as his climax tore through him, vaguely feeling Peter's last few stuttering thrusts before he carefully withdrew and collapsed onto the bed beside him.

They lay there, catching their breath for a few minutes before Peter removed the condom and disposed of it. He rolled to face Neal, propping himself up then, with a somewhat wicked look, licked him clean, swiping his tongue along the length of Neal's cock, eliciting a tired moan which ended on a chuckle.

"Why did we wait so long?' Neal asked.

"I guess...I guess I was scared," Peter said. "I wasn't sure if you were even into men, wasn't sure you felt the same way...afraid you didn't."

"But last week...you kissed me," Neal said.

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, I did, I couldn't help myself," he said. "And I misread your reaction..."

"I was surprised," Neal said. "And incredibly turned on." He grinned. "If you'd only stuck around, you'd have known."

"I wish I had, now," Peter said with an answering grin.

Neal looked pensive as a thought occurred to him. "This...this isn't a one-off, is it?"

Peter sobered. "Not unless that's what you want," he said.

Neal sat up and pushed him back. "Not what I want," he said. "And what I want right now is to return the favor...as soon as I can." He trailed a finger up the length of Peter's cock, only a little surprised when he responded. He wrapped a hand around it and slowly stroked, watching Peter's eyes darken. He leaned over to kiss the other man softly then set out to explore his body as thoroughly as Peter had explored his.

Peter's breath had been reduced to ragged gasps by the time Neal turned his attention to his cock, hard and laying flat against the toned abs. Neal had always been somewhat surprised when he'd seen Peter shirtless - the cheap suits hid a well defined chest, trim abs and waist. He heard Peter moan as he took the head of his cock into his mouth, licking away the drop of precum that had pearled at the tip. Slowly, teasingly he took more and more until he had it all. Overcome with a powerful urge to really taste his partner, Neal went to town, sucking and licking, nipping occasionally, holding Peter still as he writhed under him.

"Neal..."

Neal heard the warning and, with a final swipe of his tongue, felt the warmth of Peter's come fill his mouth, giving a shuddering moan as he swallowed. He slid up over Peter's body and let him taste himself before laying beside him as they caught their breath.

"Wow," Peter said when he could talk again. He wrapped an arm around Neal and pulled him close, not really surprised he fit so well against him.

Neal settled against him, head on his chest and closed his eyes, feeling happy, sated and safe in Peter's arms. A passing thought made him ask, "The Marshals?"

"We're working late," Peter said. "I already made the call."

"This isn't work," Neal said, smiling.

"They don't need to know that."

Neal decided not to worry and closed his eyes again, feeling sleep tugging at him and Peter's hand stroking his back.

Peter watched him through half lidded eyes, enjoying the weight of Neal's body against him...and he smiled, knowing he'd be enjoying Neal again when they woke up.


End file.
